


i blow the ashes to free the sky

by Crow_Dust



Series: Beyond the Silver Moon [3]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Developing Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Phoenixes, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25220920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crow_Dust/pseuds/Crow_Dust
Summary: On that Italian spring morning, Charles had tasted his blood for the first time, and that was the beginning of his end. As well as the beginning of their history. After all, everything here is about blood ties, thirst for life, and loyalty.
Relationships: Christian Horner & Daniel Ricciardo, Daniel Ricciardo/Charles Leclerc
Series: Beyond the Silver Moon [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731100
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	i blow the ashes to free the sky

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a kind of prequel to the main story. I just wanted to show that Daniel and Charles have been linked for a long time.
> 
> Many thanks to Laura for her help and motivation! 💗✨ If it wasn't for you, I would never have proofread this text.

The conclave meeting was mandatory, inevitable in its way, and insanely boring. However, Christian insisted on his presence, so now Daniel follows him at a distance of two paces, while he conducts small talk with the heads of other clans. In his time, Christian's predecessor had crossed many of them, so he kindly invited Daniel to enjoy the Sicilian sun, wine, and free snacks, making him his shadow. Daniel was amused by his role, as well as the entire environment: true Mafiosi in their natural habitat, looking with disdain at an unarmed Joker. Christian was one of the few people who knew the truth about Ricciardo and took full advantage of it. A wolf in sheep's clothing. Good old sly fox, but that's why they worked together. He understood a simple truth: you can't hold fire, but you can keep it going.

This year, the conclave had arranged a meeting at Arrivabene’s manor, a figure so important and unshakeable that no one would even dream of setting up a showdown within the walls of his house. This was the reason for Daniel's boredom: nothing was happening. So he looks wistfully around the room, barely suppressing a yawn, and his gaze falls on the table of the hosts. Maurizio is sitting at the head of the table, and there is such an intimidating aura around him that at one point Daniel doubts that he is even human. At his right hand sits his protégé Kimi Raikkonen, whose gaze is so cold and distant that Daniel shudders. His gaze moves on — and there it is, a delight to the eyes. Charles Leclerc is don Arrivabene's personal assistant and translator. A fine young talent, with an unfailingly polite complacency on his face and a charming smile that never touched his eyes. However, under this mask of cold aloofness, there is a passionate nature that specializes in Molotov cocktails and cold weapons.

"Charles Leclerc," Daniel mouths. The name rolls on his tongue, giving off an astringent and tart aftertaste, and he savors it like a Barolo served today.

Christian gives him a warning look but says nothing. His faith in Daniel's discretion sometimes surprised Daniel himself, who was ready to throw himself into any deep end with his head if he didn’t see it as a particular threat. Here, all his instincts are screaming for imminent danger, pointing out all the signs of the perniciousness of this idea, but as long as they feel like butterflies in his stomach, he is willing to ignore them.

Their table is in a corner, away from the elite of mafia society, pointing their noses at their situation — a kind of spat at a mercenary clan with no family name or history. Christian angrily squeezes the cutlery in his hands and exchanging glances with Abiteboul, a longtime business partner who just throws up his hands. They are not welcome here. That's not how they do business. Still, money doesn't solve everything in this world. In this world, family ties, bloodlust, and loyalty are at the top. Daniel snorts at his thoughts, trying to hide a chuckle over a glass of wine, catching Nico's puzzled look. He is too engrossed in the affairs of the clan, so he does not see the full picture, but Ricciardo still appreciates the company of the German. The only one who waves off Daniel's boredom in this jar with formalin and conceited individuals. _Almost_ the only one.

Daniel’s gaze, as if magnetized, returns to the main table, watching as the aura of radiated superiority and the mask of detachment fall from Charles's face, and an unbidden blush blooms on the boy's cheeks as Daniel looks at him. Their cat-and-mouse game was gaining momentum. Daniel chuckles to himself and turns away, pleased with the effect, sipping his wine, then looking up again. His body shudders at what he sees: the hunger in Charles' eyes is captivating and intoxicating, as is the all-consuming desire in them. Daniel feels the envious looks of the others and their silent question: why him? Daniel doesn't know the answer. This guy can have everything, and he wants _him_. Openly, greedily, and it's disarming. And, undoubtedly, it turns Daniel on.

Ricciardo tries to concentrate on what he is being told, but Hulkenberg's voice is heard somewhere in the distance, at the back of his mind, while his skin literally melts under the sharp gaze of green eyes. Without breaking eye contact, the young man first licks and then bites his lower lip.

"Daniel."

Ricciardo just grunts in response. Nico rolls his eyes but firmly repeats again. "Daniel, don't. You don't want any trouble."

"Trouble?" Daniel raises an eyebrow as he continues to watch Leclerc across the banquet hall. He whispers something in the ear of Arrivabene, receives a nod, smiles, and gets up from the table.

"Exactly. Troubles. And _he_ is the very personification of trouble." There is something in his tone that escapes Ricciardo's understanding. "Don't be fooled by his pretty face. They say that Toto howls like a wolf at his antics."

"Toto? Even so?" Daniel grins in anticipation as he looks around the room, but he can't find the figure he's looking for. Now he's even more intrigued. If Nico wanted to talk him out of this, then he was doing a damn bad job. "He can withstand the universal drama of Lewis and Nico for centuries, but not a couple of pranks of this young talent? Sounds interesting."

"Intere- What? Are you even listening to me?"

At this moment, a waiter passes by their table, and a neatly folded note falls next to Ricciardo. His lips stretch in a dreamy smile until the note turns to ash in the blink of an eye before Nico notices it.

"No," Daniel says easily and carelessly. "If you'll excuse me, my friend," he says, getting up from the table, but he can't help winking at Hulkenberg, who only curses after him.

Ricciardo doesn’t have time to reach the designated place near the fountain in the depths of the labyrinth, broken out behind the estate, as he was dragged into an arch, hidden from prying eyes. Ready to attack, he relaxes when he sees the gleam of Charles' laughing eyes in the light of the nascent moon. The man doesn't say anything, just grabs him by the lapels of his jacket, and kisses him. Pleasure flows through Daniel's veins, bubbling, and hitting his head like sparkling wine. The next moments of the night pass as if in a haze, drawing him into a whirlpool of pleasure and carelessness. Kisses burn, eyes beckon, and from the lips fly unbidden heated confessions. Under the cover of night, you can afford to be so weak, can't you? And he is ready to give her all of himself and even more.

***

They meet the morning on crumpled sheets in the sunlight that has lazily slid into the room through the uncurtained windows. Daniel can barely contain a shiver from the bright contrast of the warming rays of the rising sun and the scalding cold fingers on his skin. In the back of his mind, Daniel thought that in the morning the delusion would pass and he would wake up alone in his bed. It's nice to be wrong sometimes.

"Like the view?" Daniel asks without opening his eyes, and can't help but smile when all he gets in response is a soft snort. "I thought nice girls didn't stay for breakfast."

The hand that is tracing patterns on his chest that only it knows of freezes. The sheet rustles, and as tempting as it is to open his eyes, Daniel doesn't dare. The hand begins to move again, rising higher and higher, tracing his collarbone until it stops at his neck, gently stroking his jugular vein with its thumb.

"Who else is a fan? You've been staring at me all night."

"Like everyone else in that room, but here you are, baby."

At this point, Daniel opens his eyes, and it doesn’t escape his attention that Charles looks at his neck, biting his lip. His gaze was steady, appraising, not at all in keeping with his disheveled, sleepy appearance.

"Want some?"

"Wh-What?" Charles looks up in surprise and swallows convulsively, licking his dry lips, and his pupils dilate, hiding the iris. Daniel breaks into a sly smile. He lifts Charles' chin and runs a finger thoughtfully over his lower lip, pulling it back and looking into his eyes. They are like a mirror reflecting the desire in the other’s gaze, but at the very bottom of it, there is fear and a strange indecision that Daniel thought Charles didn’t know.

"I'm not stupid, baby. If you want, _take_ ," Daniel’s voice enveloped, sounding a tone lower with a slight hoarseness.

A shiver runs through Charles' body. Permission is granted, there is no more need to hold back than the other uses. He runs his hands through Daniel's curls, forcing him to throw back his head and expose his throat, which causes Ricciardo to involuntarily groan. _This is so fucking good_. Fangs pierce the skin, and Charles grunts contentedly and presses into Daniel so that he can feel his erection against his hip. _Damn, damn, damn_. Daniel hisses, feeling his head start to spin, and pushes Charles under him. The man looks up from his neck in exasperation and throws a discontented look from under his eyelashes, licking his lips. Blood runs down his chin and permanently stains the silk pillowcase. The sight is too compelling to resist. Blood mingles on their tongues, and soon the sounds of discontent are replaced by short satisfied moans, the rustle of sheets, and the creak of the bed.

The air in the room is electric, and Charles' eyes are golden in the morning sun that has set behind the clouds. And this is the most beautiful thing that Daniel has ever seen in his life.

On that Italian spring morning, Charles had tasted his blood for the first time, and that was the beginning of his end. As well as the beginning of their history. After all, everything here is about blood ties, thirst for life, and loyalty.

***

Everything ends as suddenly as it began, turning into a clot of dust and ash. A couple of shots, his imminent demise, Leclerc's frighteningly explosive character with a handful of corpses on his hands. A coup in the mafia clan with a slight hint of the supernatural, but in fact — the guys just made a mistake with the goal. Had they chosen anyone over Maurizio Arrivabene, the tragedy might have been avoided. However, not everyone lives by the laws of the mafia in a world where money rules.

The peace talks were not so peaceful, and Daniel is up to his elbows in blood, but no one licks it off his fingers. He shudders at the unwelcome memory but shakes it away. Not here. _Not now_.

Don Maurizio clings to the lapels of his jacket with bloodied fingers and tries to say something, but Ricciardo only hears gurgling sounds in the back of his throat: clearly a lung has been touched. He leans lower because he can't refuse a dead man his dying wish.

Charles and Kimi left for the coast today and escaped the carnage that engulfed the estate. In his heart, Daniel is glad of this, even though he hasn’t wanted to let Charles out of bed since this morning. "Take care of him." Maurizio looks him straight in the eye, and Daniel can't find the strength to protest, just nods. The words become barely distinguishable as don tries to remove the ring from his hand with weak, unruly fingers. Daniel covers his hands with his own, helping him, and Maurizio just smiles wearily, so that a trickle of blood runs down his chin as he presses the ring into Daniel's palm. "Give this to Kimi." Maurizio reaches out with the last of his strength and touches his cheek. "You're a good man, Daniel Ricciardo."

His weakened hand slips from the face of the dazed Daniel, leaving a trail of blood on the skin, and his eyes lose the last glimmer of life. Don Maurizio is dead. Long live the new don.

Daniel swallows and looks back at the commotion around them: tables overturned, shouts and gunfire everywhere, Binotto's men storming the estate. The next thing Daniel remembers is the muzzle of a gun pointed at his face, Christian's eyes telling him _«Sorry, Daniel, nothing personal, but business is business»_ and further complete oblivion.

***

Ricciardo wakes up in the ashes of a bygone era, where honor, valor, and tradition are forgotten. But the law of hospitality is sacred and written in blood — those who violate it will be punished by the gods. And Daniel is looking forward to it, clutching the family ring that has become a thread between reality and oblivion for him. A thread stronger than a chain binds him with oaths to the dead. Someone who, even after death, is more powerful than most of the living.

Binotto's supremacy didn’t last a day, erased from the face of the earth, and scorched by the infernal flames of righteous indignation. Ricciardo's lips are touched by a slight smile when the news of the fate of the clan reaches him at Fontanarossa airport, but his heart feels unbearably heavy. Christian turns to the window and tries not to cross his gaze. He doesn't try to look contrite — although he's honest about it — but it comes out of his mouth:

"Why didn't you tell me he was a vampire? Daniel, I thought we could trust each other."

Daniel is silent. He doesn't want to think about Charles (not here and not now), but his heart still jumps at the very mention of him. His hand tightens on the arm of the chair, and the air begins to smell like burnt plastic.

"You don't have to talk about trust, Christian," Daniel spits out, every word punctuated. "As soon as we land in Rome, I don't want to hear from you."

"But…"

"Do you understand me?" his voice is metallic, his face serious, and Horner shudders, but this time he holds the gaze of Daniel’s golden eyes.

"Daniel, if I could, I would tell you _everything_. You know that. But you compromised yourself with this relationship. I forgot who _you_ are. Our code. We couldn't let them guess the plan."

"«Family. Debt. Honor.»? Don't make me laugh, Christian. If such words mean anything, it's not for you, right?" The ring bites into his hand, hot in the palm of his hand, and Daniel pulls himself back. He sees the image of Maurizio again, his broken whisper, and the unearned trust in his eyes. Daniel looks out of the window again, watching the sky.

Horner bites his lip, the inner struggle visible on his face. In the end, after a couple of minutes of silence, he exhales:

"I lied to you... when you asked about this guy. My sources tell me that Leclerc survived."

"But you…"

"Did I see his heart ripped out of his chest? Yes, I did. And I've also seen what happens when your blood gets into your system." He's the very embodiment of the mysterious influence of the Phoenix blood, having forgotten about aging for many years. However, Horner feels that the secret to his longevity is off the hook. Escaped from the nets so carelessly set. One unrecorded factor in the form of a pretty face — and Daniel leaves him. Perhaps that was why he deserved a little bit of the honesty he so sincerely craved.

"It’s impossible." Daniel's voice is hoarse as if it might break at any moment.

"That's a fact. They don't need to lie."

The silence of the cabin is filled with the hum of engines and working air conditioning. Ricciardo's face remains impassive, but Christian knows that a volcano of emotions is raging under the surface right now.

"I'm truly sorry, Daniel." Words spoken from the heart. With one caveat: Horner didn't specify what he was sorry about. "I'm sure you'll meet again."

"Stop."

They spend the rest of their journey in silence. Daniel leaves Sicily with a heavy heart, but with a dawning hope too, rooted in the very depths of his nature.

***

Promises tend to wear out. They are sometimes worn by time, when he drinks Barolo in a quiet Italian restaurant in Chicago, burns letters from an obsessive past, and stands on the grave of his long-dead mother. The wine is strong and bitter on his tongue, and he winces and looks out the window at the rainy, dank Chicago sky, twirling the massive ring on his finger.

The morning to which he returns, again and again, was as clear as anything in Sicily, drenched in sunshine, cold, and warmth. He associated Charles with the sun, though he was colder than marble and darker than a moonless night.

_"Blood is mixed with wine, but yours is sweeter than any honey."_

_"Do I take that as a compliment?"_

_"Think of it as something I've always wanted to tell you."_

Kimi never accepted the ring. He looked at Daniel with his cold, piercing gaze and put it back in his hand, pressing it insistently and telling him to wait for the right moment. For a moment, Daniel thought that a smile flickered on Kimi’s lips, and he was too confused to say anything against it. _«You will definitely meet again»_ hung in the air.

***

Their paths cross only years later in the depths of sin city, in the light of the dance floor lights. Daniel sees Charles as a shadowy vision, dissolving into the haze of madness raging around him. A vision that looked at him with disbelief and disarming hope. Charles hadn’t changed at all since their last meeting; only his eyes were more serious. Daniel himself has acquired several new scars, questionable acquaintances, and a sentimental habit of not letting go of what he holds dear. So once they were back on the same orbit, they no longer lost sight of each other.

Charles doesn't ask why the metal is melting in his hands and the smell of the fire haunts him, and he doesn't ask why the lights around Charles sometimes blink and the windows shake. They don't ask questions, not because they're afraid to hear the answers. They don’t ask questions, because they are more important proximity and complete unconditional trust. Everyone has the right to their own secrets.

***

Christian finds Ricciardo in Los Angeles. The lines on his face became more pronounced, his eyes tired and a little doomed. He looks warily toward the stairs leading to the second floor as if he senses Charles' presence. The nose doesn’t fail the old fox, and here on the table are a Grimoire and a note of apology with a painfully familiar coat of arms. Daniel is unshaken and ready to say what he thinks about all the letters he has sent over the years, but Charles, who has flown down from the second floor in the blink of an eye, stops him:

"Is that what I think it is?" he reverently picks up the Grimoire and runs his fingers carefully over the cover.

"Yes, it wasn't easy to get hold of, but I had to... make it up to you," Horner is clearly choosing his words, looking warily at the disheveled Charles in Daniel's old t-shirt. He looks like the most harmless creature on the entire West Coast, so Ricciardo doesn’t understand the tension emanating from Christian. His former boss was rarely openly cautious, preferring to say caustic things to his face, but then something stopped him. Or is it?

"It's strange to give me something that's already rightfully mine." Charles looks up from the book and looks at Christian with a sneer.

"It's just a gesture of goodwill. No more than that."

"I've heard of you and seen your methods for taking it at face value. You need anything from Daniel, so you have decided that I will be able to persuade him to help you, isn't it?" Charles tilts his head to one side, asking, and Daniel just blinks in surprise and looks at Christian. The other stares at him, a silent question in his eyes. Ricciardo shakes his head: _no, I didn't tell him what I am, Christian_. Horner smiles contentedly, which causes a frown between Charles's brows that Daniel wants to smooth out with his fingers.

"You're right, but it's not up to you to decide. So what do you say, Daniel?"

He looks at the letter, then at the Grimoire in Charles's hands, and then back at Christian.

"I'll think about it."

"That's all I need."

Daniel feels that he will regret letting this man into his life again.

***

A couple of weeks later, Ricciardo returns to the city of his youth, receives a blessing from the withered and lost greatness of Marco, and meets a terrified and blood-stained werewolf convert who clings to him as if his life depends on it. So Max becomes another constant in his life, along with Charles. When it comes in like a hurricane, it's got its claws on him and won't let go, forcing Daniel to come back again and again.

Ricciardo manages to balance between two worlds, until one sunny California day, when he and Charles were basking in the afternoon sun, the latter asked one question:

"Who's Max?"

And after that, the world ceased to be polar. After all, everything in their modest comfortably recreated life for two is built on blood ties, a thirst for intimacy, and loyalty. You shouldn't have forgotten that Daniel, should you?

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [nathanieldewalde](https://nathanieldewalde.tumblr.com/).  
> 


End file.
